For the want of a smile
by Archaeologist
Summary: Merlin hasn't smiled in weeks and Arthur will just have to do something about it.


**Titles:** For the want of a smile  
**Characters:** Arthur, Merlin, Uther  
**Summary**: Merlin hasn't smiled in weeks and Arthur will just have to do something about it.  
**Rating**: PG, pre-slash  
**Word count:** 4545  
**Spoilers:** up through the end of Season 2

* * *

Arthur didn't like it one bit.

Merlin was far too quiet. Most of the time, he complained incessantly about the least little thing Arthur asked him to do, moaning and groaning, or else when he wasn't talking – which was rare, he went around stomping in those ridiculous boots of his, making far more noise than even knights in full armour. Ludicrous really since the boy was a thin, gangly thing, no meat on his bones at all, looking like he'd topple over in a slight breeze.

Really a wretched low-born peasanty kind of fellow that no one would want to be around except well, his eyes were really lovely and he had the best smiles, really great smiles and his hands, so long and….

But Arthur didn't want to think about that. Better to focus on his less endearing traits, like his noisy footsteps and those fierce looks of his. Oh, and the endless complaints about his chores.

Endless complaints.

No, it was as if Merlin wanted to proclaim, loudly, how much he didn't want to be _doing his job_. Of course, that thought was absurd. There are hundreds – hundreds - who would pay dearly for the honour of taking care of the Crown Prince. And Merlin should understand that and be properly grateful.

But bumbling idiot that he was, Merlin couldn't seem to get it through his head, and so Arthur, a tolerant, compassionate and nobly noble Prince, let him get away with slipshod service and loud grumbles. At least, Merlin made him laugh.

Now, however, Merlin was going around doing his chores - however badly - without complaint. A glaring sign that _something …was… wrong_.

Not that Arthur didn't agree with that assessment. The west wall of the castle was in serious danger of collapse after the dragon's attack and he tried not to think of all the bodies charred beyond recognition or else entombed beneath fallen rubble. It had been a terrible time and one he'd not soon forget.

However, even in the worst of times, Merlin usually had a quick grin or better yet a surly retort to send Arthur's way. But something was bothering him, something that he refused to tell Arthur about, and every day Merlin grew more silent.

And Arthur hated it. Hated it!

Of course, it became his mission to fix. He couldn't have his idiotic manservant – not his friend or anything else really because Princes can't have servants as friends no matter how much they might wish it and if his father ever found out that Merlin was that important to Arthur, there would be hell to pay – hurting that much.

So he did the only thing he could do, went looking for Merlin to wind him up a bit and help him get over the ridiculous mood he was in.

After looking for hours, checking all of Merlin's usual hiding places, talking with Gauis who also had no idea where his wayward servant had gone, even Gwen hadn't seen him all day, Arthur finally gave up and went back to his quarters. He would give it another go later on.

Instead, he got quite a shock. Merlin was actually where he's supposed to be – in Arthur's room, surprisingly doing what he's supposed to be doing - his chores. Instead of his usual slacking off, he was scrubbing the floors, getting water everywhere but still trying.

That couldn't be right.

Merlin didn't even look up when he came in, just kept on scrubbing at the stonework, back and forth, back and forth, his sleeves wet, his head down, unhappiness clear in every movement.

The scratch-scratch of the brushes against the floor never stopped, never slowed down as Arthur walked toward him.

He wasn't going to stand for it. Merlin acting like a proper servant was just not right. It was unnatural.

So he walked over, nudged Merlin's knee with his boot, tried to be annoying if nothing else than to get a rise out of him. "You missed a spot."

On an ordinary day, Arthur would expect a grumpy reply, a heated glare, or even a not-so-accidental splash of soapy water across his boots. Sometimes, if Merlin were especially annoyed with him, Arthur would get all three and then they'd argue about it and it would be brilliant.

Instead however, without looking up, Merlin shrugged and kept on scrubbing.

Worse and worse.

Arthur hadn't seen Merlin this upset since he threw cold water at him after the whole boiling bath incident but it had been ages ago. Surely, he wasn't still holding a grudge. Or could he be angry about the time Arthur yelled at him when the crystal was stolen? Or maybe when the dragonlord died and Arthur told him that no man was worth his tears? He'd been really miserable then, looking so gutted and lost that Arthur would have gripped Merlin's shoulder in a manly way, of course, right there and then and comforted him if they hadn't had more important things to do.

Or perhaps Merlin was still pining about Morgana. A thought that Arthur never wanted in his head in the first place and now he couldn't seem to get rid of it. But surely not that.

Whatever it was, he just wanted Merlin to go back to the way he was: someone who was unable to follow directions, who made snide remarks at every turn, a totally inept servant with a thoroughly goofy grin. Someone who looked at Arthur and saw a person and not a prince, someone who might actually like Arthur for himself.

Arthur would do whatever he had to do to get that Merlin back because he wouldn't put up with this quiet, unhappy Merlin a moment longer.

Giving him another quick nudge, a little harder this time although it wasn't that hard, but unbelievably, the idiot toppled over onto a still-wet floor. Gangly limbs everywhere and as he flailed around, the bucket went, too. Soap bubbles and a very large puddle of dirty water began spreading outward.

Arthur tried not to snort. This was more like it. Now if he could just get Merlin to make a fuss, maybe get him to yell at him for being such a prat, and nudge each other a bit, things might go back to normal.

But he doesn't.

Instead, Merlin got back on his knees, picked up the rag next to him and began sopping up the mess. Not even grumbling about it. Arthur couldn't tell what was going on but as he bent over, trying to see whether Merlin had a scowl on his face or a grin, the boy was swiping at his eyes. Then he seemed to realize that Arthur was looking at him because he turned away. And sniffed.

Oh, for the love of….

Arthur knows that he's not the brightest star in the sky but he's seen this before. Merlin was crying again.

He wanted to turn and walk out the door, go a few rounds of sword-fighting with his knights which would be sweaty and exhilarating and so much easier than listening to Merlin's sniffling or the suspicious hitch in his breathing. This was not something Arthur could deal with. Emotions, other than mocking or insults, were things to be left alone, good enough for girls to handle but not a Prince of Camelot.

But Merlin was his responsibility. And Arthur might not like dealing with messy emotions but he's no coward, either. If Merlin needed him, then he'd do whatever it took. Even if it meant - he shuddered at the thought – getting Merlin to open up and talk about his feelings.

He tried not to sigh. He was not good at this, at feelings and talking about them, and it made him unsure of what to do next. Arthur hated being unsure. He had tried to get Merlin out of his sulk once before when they'd finished dealing with that flying cat creature a few months back. He'd pulled Merlin under his arm and knuckled into his hair. That had worked – a little. Several satisfying protests from Merlin as Arthur had tightened his grip and he'd even got him to smile for a few minutes when he'd finally let him go. Arthur had felt warm for days afterwards.

Maybe more rough-housing would work. He could do that; it was certainly better than talking about feelings. No, not talking about that. Ever.

But there was another soft sniffle from Merlin and Arthur refused to let it go on for one more minute.

Looking around, he saw that the only dry spot on the entire floor was right next to Merlin. Perfect.

He sat down with his usual grace, of course. Yes, he knows that princes aren't supposed to sit on the floor with their servants but what else can he do? This was Merlin after all and he'd do just about anything for… better not to finish that thought.

Instead Arthur focused on his mission to get his friend past this whatever it was. He looked at Merlin for a moment, waiting for the right opportunity.

When it came, when he sprung into action, it's perfect; the tackle was perfect. Over goes his idiot friend, the scrub-brush in his hand flying up and hitting something, armour by the sound of it but he'd worry about that later.

There was a loud satisfying squawk as Merlin tried to get away but Arthur was trained for that sort of thing. He was faster, of course and holds on tight. Merlin gave another indignant yelp as he, slippery as an eel and twice as skinny, wiggled for all he's worth, attempting to pull out of Arthur's grip, batting at his hands and making a complete fool of his bumpkin self.

It was great fun.

Or it would be if Arthur didn't see Merlin's eyes and the puffy way they look, all red and kind of wet. But he couldn't stop now. Merlin would just think he's a bully and he couldn't have that, either.

It was also proving more difficult than he thought. Merlin grew slipperier with every second. He almost shoved Arthur off and it's mostly luck that he manages to hold on at all – not that he'd ever admit it. But with his natural abilities and the fact that he weighs more than the idiot, not fat of course but pure muscle, Arthur was able to push him back onto the floor and then he sat down on top of Merlin's bony hips and scrawny legs and everything digging into him.

That earned Arthur another squawk and Merlin was scowling up at him. "Let me go, you big prat."

That's better. Less crying and more glares. And Merlin was sending him quite a glare.

Arthur tried not to smile. It wouldn't do for Merlin to find out just how much he was enjoying all of this.

The glares were getting stronger and Merlin suddenly gave a great heave, obviously hoping to push him off, his skinny hands waving around madly, batting at Arthur's chest and arms and anything else he could reach but it did Merlin no good. Arthur managed to grab onto his wrists - flailing around like that it was almost impossible but he's too well trained to let a pair of fluttering hands get away from him. And he leaned down, Merlin's hands trapped on either side of his face and the boy was looking utterly furious and a bit unsure of where this was all going. At least he was not crying any more.

Of course, now he's got Merlin caught, he's not quite sure what to do next. He could try and make Merlin laugh but he's not certain this was the most well thought-out plan he's ever had. He hadn't realized just how good Merlin would feel under him, wiggling the way he was and it was giving him ideas that he'd not considered before. Besides, Merlin might not like it with him on top holding him down.

Hell, where were these thoughts coming from? This was not what he had planned and it wasn't right for him to be thinking such things when he was only doing this to cheer Merlin up.

But he's just going to have to bluster on through it and hope for the best. And deal with his own desires later.

"I am _not_ a prat." Arthur wanted to smirk because he knows he was a bit of one but it wouldn't do to let Merlin know that. "I am the best, kindest, most understanding, most Princely master that a bumbling, idiotic servant such as yourself could ever have. They sing odes about me! Odes!"

Arthur had to admit that the last bit might have been a little over the top but he was never one to let something alone when he could run with it.

"Do you even know what an ode is?" Merlin sent him a look of disbelief.

"It doesn't matter if I do or not." Of course, he did but he wasn't going to let Merlin know that. Arthur drew back a bit, puffing out his chest, a smug smile on his face. "I'll have you know that the bards sing my praises all the time."

Merlin just rolled his eyes. "They're paid to do that, you prat!"

"That's a filthy lie. And you are not getting up until you admit that I'm the best Prince you've ever met or are likely to meet. The best!"

At first he's frowning daggers at Arthur but then Merlin's face smoothed out and he nodded cautiously. "Alright, if you insist."

That would ruin all the fun but Arthur was willing to let him say it now and then mock him about it later. So he leaned forward a bit, staring straight into his eyes. "Repeat after me. Arthur is the most wonderful prince in all the known lands and I'll never call him a prat again."

Merlin's mouth flattened and the glare in his eyes could cut stone but then he let out a resigned sigh and began, "Arthur is the most…."

Unbelievably, Merlin's bony knee came up lightning fast, hitting Arthur across the backside and pushing him off-centre. And with some kind of superhuman strength –because he'll never believe that Merlin could ever best him in anything but especially not in a hand-to-hand contest – he managed to send Arthur flying over his head.

Then it's all flailing limbs and grunting and Merlin was laughing a bit as they twist and turn and fight to see who will win out. First Merlin straddled him and then Arthur wrenched away and got the idiot underneath him and they were both laughing as they rolled around on the wet floor, insulting each other and trying to gain an upper hand. The bucket went over with another splash and they knocked against the table and fruit was flying everywhere. A clatter of dishes and his goblet rolled past his head and suddenly Merlin was the one on top, grabbing at Arthur's tunic. And he had this goofy, ridiculous grin on his face.

It was wonderful and exciting and Arthur had a sudden urge to find out what Merlin would do if he leaned up and ran his mouth down that long line of throat. Would he protest or moan Arthur's name?

This was getting ridiculous.

He liked girls; he liked Gwen. He'd kissed her and thought about her and yet there was the overpowering urge to find out how Merlin would sound if he licked at his collarbone, bit him at the joint between neck and jaw, nuzzled into….

He had to stop thinking about this. It would do neither of them any good, even if Merlin felt the same way. His father would never allow it, would punish Merlin for Arthur's desires and he couldn't, he wouldn't let his friend be hurt that way.

Besides, Merlin was oblivious. The boy was not particularly bright at times although Merlin could surprise him but Arthur was sure that his friend would never consider such things.

But just watching him laugh, crowing victory, as he bounced a bit on Arthur's stomach, made him feel protective toward the idiot, even from himself. Merlin was dripping wet and there was fruit mashed into his dark hair but he was smiling again. And that was worth the pain of knowing nothing could ever come between them.

Merlin hadn't a clue, though. He was being ridiculous, of course, his face screwed up in laughter, his eyes squinty and triumphant. Still holding onto Arthur's tunic with both hands, he started to say something else, probably something ludicrous, "I can't believe I beat you…."

But he never finished.

The door crashed back and suddenly Uther was roaring somewhere behind them. "What was the meaning of this? Guards, seize him."

And Merlin got yanked off, stumbling back as two burly guards grabbed him up and away.

Damn it to hell, the smile was gone and instead Merlin was looking small and terrified, huddling into himself as best he could with his arms pulled tight. His eyes kept darting to Arthur's, too, and then away as if he felt shame in what they'd been doing.

His father was towering over Merlin, glaring down at him. "It would seem we've kept a viper in our midst. How long have you been planning this attack?"

Scrambling to his feet, Arthur said, "Father, it's not like that. We were just…."

He can't tell his father the real reason, that he wanted his friend back and happy and maybe more. It would only make things worse. If nothing else, Uther would send Merlin away to teach Arthur a lesson and he might lose the only true friend he's ever really had. Instead he needed to come up with another story and fast.

"Father, you are mistaken. Since I take Merlin with me into danger at times, he needs to be able to fight. I was giving him some lessons in self-defence."

"You would stoop this low to show a mere servant such things?" His father looked furious, looked as if he's about to go into another tirade about his princely duties, how he can't be seen consorting with peasants, that it undermined the authority of the crown and Camelot.

Arthur knew that he was not at his best at the moment; he was covered in soap and dirty water, mashed grapes stuck in his tunic, hair dripping and his father was looking at him with distaste. But he's not about to let Merlin take the blame for his own misjudgements.

"Father, he's been more than loyal. You've said so yourself. If Merlin gets hurt in combat, he can't help me and my knights. I know how useless he is with a sword but he is capable with hand-to-hand techniques. I was just showing him…."

"Arthur, leave it to the weapon's master or else one of the lesser squires. You, of all people, should not be showing a _servant_ anything. His place is to serve you, nothing more." His father's eyes flicked over to where Merlin was still being held, and as he turned back to Arthur, his contempt was palpable. "Do I make myself quite clear?"

When his father got like that, there was nothing to say but, "Yes, sire. Of course."

Apparently, the king was not finished, though. He rounded on Merlin. "I am very disappointed in you. I thought you understood your place here. Yes, you have shown loyalty above and beyond what is expected of you but this is past reason. It's unconscionable." He leaned in, scowling. "If I ever find you behaving inappropriately like this again, I will have you flogged."

"Father!" Arthur wasn't going to let this go any further. It was his fault and he should bear the blame, not Merlin. "I was the one…."

"Arthur, not another word. He needs to know his place and yours." The fierce stare Uther sent him was as hard as stone and as unbending. He drew back, flicking his hand across his cape as if cleaning off a minute particle of dust and then said flatly, "And as an example to you both, your servant will be sent to the stocks from now until dusk."

Horrified that Merlin should be punished for Arthur's mistakes, he stepped forward, reaching out with one hand, hoping to change his father's mind. "No, it's not Merlin's fault. You can't…."

But he should have known better. His father was beyond reason.

"I can and I will." Eyes hard and cold, he glared at Arthur for a moment and then drew back, straightening, looking every bit a king reprimanding an unruly subject. "And if you protest further, I will have him flogged now and then sent to the stocks for a day and a night."

Arthur didn't dare glance at Merlin and give his father any more reasons for punishing his friend but he heard the boy's soft whimper clearly enough. This time of year, it was almost mild during the day but the nights were cold and Merlin was too thin already. Plus flogging was hellishly painful and if not treated, could lead to scars and even death in some cases. Merlin must be terrified.

Uther was not finished. "This is _your_ lesson as much as it is his. Your obvious weakness for this servant undermines your authority. Don't make me destroy him to prove a point."

Standing rigid and furious, all Arthur can do was bow his agreement. "Yes, father."

He could almost feel the weight of Uther's disdain. Staring at him for a long, cold moment, enough time to emphasise his decision and quell any idea of foolish rebellion, his father nodded to the guards.

Merlin was marched away, his head down, hands clenching, not struggling but stumbling a bit as he was pulled along. For one second, before he turned the corner, he twisted back, sending Arthur a single look, understanding and forgiveness in his eyes, and then he's gone.

His father waited until the sound of boots faded away, then turned back to Arthur. "This foolishness will stop. There is already talk of how you favour him above knights and other nobles." There was disgust in Uther's eyes and his voice only echoed it. If Arthur had been a young boy, he'd have been slinking off to lick his wounds by now. But he wasn't a young boy any more. He was a prince with a friend who was paying for Arthur's mistakes.

He lifted his chin, and let Uther's words wash over him. "A _servant_, Arthur. No matter how much he sacrifices for you and takes care of you, he is still a servant and infinitely replaceable. If this happens again, the consequences will be severe. Do I make myself understood?"

When things calmed down, he would try and find a way to keep Merlin safe, even from Arthur's own reckless behaviour and certainly from the king's notice.

But at this moment, Arthur had no other options. Bowing his head, he said, "Of course, father. I understand you perfectly. It will not happen again."

* * *

He didn't expect Merlin to return until the following day. Punishment in the stocks, even if people weren't throwing rotten fruit, was a painful process, with muscles spasming at being too long held in one place and the chill creeping under your skin. Merlin didn't have a jacket on to keep out the cold and his shirt had been soaked with dirty water when he was marched away. Arthur, knowing and hating that his father's spies were watching his every move, wasn't able to help him either.

But he came back from a silent, anger-filled supper with his father to find Merlin in the same spot he'd been at earlier in the day, on his knees scrubbing the stone floor. He was moving slowly, painfully and he looked utterly wrecked.

Arthur was not happy about it. "Why aren't you with Gauis, eating dinner or sleeping? I didn't think you'd be up to… could you stop that for a moment?"

Merlin had been ignoring him or rather not looking at him which isn't the same thing but it doesn't matter. He should have been resting, not slaving away on some rubbish chores that could wait a day or two. But when Arthur told him to stop, he stiffened, putting down his brush and looked up at him with weary eyes.

"The king told me that I had to finish my chores before I was dismissed for the day, sire."

The boy looked so forlorn and tired that Arthur wanted to get down on his knees next to Merlin and damn it, give him a hug, girly and ludicrous as that might be, hold onto him for all he was worth and make him feel better somehow. But he didn't dare, not so soon after his father's tirade. Instead, folding his arms about his chest to keep from doing something they both might come to regret, he leaned back on the table's edge, and said, "You are finished for the day, Merlin. Go home."

"The king will be sending the guards down later to make sure it's done, sire." Merlin said it matter-of-factly, as if it were nothing, and then with a grimace, turned back to cleaning the floor.

A surge of anger slammed up through his ribcage and it was all he could do to keep from storming into the king's chambers and demanding that it stop, that his father stop hurting the people Arthur cared about because of some kind of misguided idea of what weakness and strength were. It was not a damn training technique for kingship; it was real people and real pain and he hated it.

But for now, he could do nothing, couldn't even protect the ones he loved from his father's obsessions. With a heavy sigh, he said, "Merlin, you know I would change it if I could."

His friend kept scrubbing, not looking up, his body tense, hunched, pathetically vulnerable. "I know, sire."

"Merlin, I was only…." Sadness and frustration and loss caught at his throat and looking away, he stumbled into silence. He hated that he couldn't explain himself in a way that Merlin would understand, that he'd been trying to make things better, hoping to see his friend smile again, be happy again, that he'd never push his own desires on Merlin but that he'd protect him with everything that he was. It had all gone to hell and now things were worse than ever.

"Arthur, I know what you were trying to do." There was something in Merlin's voice and Arthur looked up to see him trying to smile, slowly widening, almost sad but it was reaching his eyes, not just a quirk of the mouth but genuine and true. A fondness lingering there and an acceptance of what had been unspoken between them that made the tightness in Arthur's chest begin to lift just a little. The beginnings of hope for something better. "I know."

Someday, it might be something more, perhaps someday love and hunger and desire would be returned but for now, Merlin's smile was enough.

The end.


End file.
